


Late night flight from Gatwick

by solrosan



Series: Queensman [3]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Nobel Prize, Post-Kingsman: The Golden Circle, Prince Eggsy Unwin, Prince Gary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan/pseuds/solrosan
Summary: Eggsy takes a break from being a Kingsman agent to fly back to Stockholm and attend the Nobel banquet as the prince of Sweden.





	Late night flight from Gatwick

The Swedish royal aeroplane was the last to leave Gatwick airport on December 6. It was nothing compared to the Kingsman plane when it came to over-the-top poshness, but the appanage could only be stretched so far and the Swedish taxpayers side eyed this plane enough as it was.

Eggsy rarely used it when he travelled between London and Stockholm. Usually he flew business class, using a fake passport. Tilde absolutely hated that he did that, but it made it possible for him to get home more often, which she loved so it was a trade-off. Eggsy wondered how long a fake passport and a cap would fool the people at the Swedish passport control and when they would start recognising him. Then again, Superman wouldn’t work at a newspaper and a price wouldn’t fly commercial. Perhaps he would get away with it for longer than he thought.

This time that wasn’t an issues, because tonight they used all the bells and whistles. The British royals had even been kind enough to let him use one of their state cars to get to the airport. Then, when he arrived in Stockholm he would be picked up on the landing strip by a black stretched Volvo S80, with at least three SÄPO cars in tow. 

Eggsy hated the for-show bits, but he had to admit that it did make it easier to just sneak in and out of the country the other times if they made a point of showing him off when he travelled officially. He had done this for three years now, bouncing back and forth between his obligations as a royal consort and the slow rebuilding of the Kingsman agency under the cover of finishing his apprenticeship. 

With the help of Agent Tequila – and the Statesman’s money – they had managed to rebuild most of their London houses, but the base outside of the city had been deemed too expensive to restore. Very discreetly (both due to tax reasons and public opinion) the ownership of Tilde’s manor in the English countryside had been transferred to Eggsy who had given it to Kingsman. At the moment, there were massive constructions going on out there to get the place (and the ground below) up to the agency’s standards. 

Eggsy and Harry had managed to recruit and train two field agents. They had got the code names Gawain and Percival. Eggsy felt constantly out of his depth. He was roughly the same age as the recruits he was supposed to train, he knew almost nothing about the technical side of his new job (though Whiskey had been over twice to help him), and on top of that he was supposed to eat dinner in front of a million TV viewers the day after tomorrow and hold conversations about quantum physics!

That’s what he was going home for this time. The Nobel Prize Ceremony and the Nobel Banquet. It was, hands down, the most boring part of his new job. It was also the only reoccurring event (other than Sweden’s national holiday and Tilde’s birthday) that was non-negotiable when it came to his attendance. The only upside was that it was an almost exclusively English speaking event. 

Eggsy sat back in his chair, his seatbelt fastened. He thought about sleeping, he had become really good at sleeping on aeroplanes. Instead he pulled out his tablet. Tilde had sent over the powerpoints about the laureates and other prominent guests and he needed to have looked at them at least once. It was incredibly dull, but he had become rather good at learning names and faking interests, too. Thrust be told, he was probably a better agent now thanks to all the state dinners he had kept a straight face through.

At the banquet this time, he was going to have the Chemistry laureate to the table. He had been pleased to learn that she was from Leeds and had done most of her research at Cambridge. Tilde had probably had something to do with that particular seating arrangement. 

When they started the decent he was barely able to keep his eyes open. Words he almost knew how to pronounce floated over the tablet screen without meaning anything anymore – if they ever had. Eggsy put away the tablet and looked out the window. He might not be quite as stupid as the press made him out to be, but the importance of quasiperiodic crystals was something that needed more than a powerpoint during a night flight to grasp.

They touched ground. He thanked the cabin crew for tonight and apologized again for his terrible flight schedule. He couldn’t wait to get off and home to his bed, and his wife. 

Speaking about his wife, though…

Standing outside the black Volvo, in the cold Scandinavian December night, was the Crown Princess of Sweden. She wore a beige coat and a furry hat that made her look like a Russian Bond character, and she was so obviously freezing her arse off. 

“What on Earth are you doing here?” He called out as he – carefully – walked down the stairs. “I told you it was fine for you to stay home.”

He dropped his carryon on the ground to be able to hug her properly.

“Surprise,” she mumbled in his ear, her teeth chattering. 

“Idiot,” he muttered, grinning. He kissed her, twice, before picking up the bag again ushering her to the car. “Get in. If you get pneumonia because of this I’m not going to Stadshuset by myself.”

Tilde giggled. She opened the door to the car and slipped inside. The driver offered to take the bag from him and Eggsy let him without even thinking about it. Some things were easier to get accustomed to than others.

“What colour is it this time?” Tilde asked when the car started to move.

“Black.”

“Boring.”

”One year I’m going to show up at Konserthuset in a green tux and that day, you’re not allowed to say anything.”

Tilde laughed and threw her hat at him. After the wedding, they had made a point of Eggsy always wearing Kingsman suits whenever they attended an event where people would discuss who had designed her outfit. Not only was it fun, but it also helped with the charade that he actually was in London to finish his apprenticeship. 

He had worn suit jackets in almost every colour of the rainbow by now during less formal events – some of them he had actually made himself. It had turned out the press loved it! On Nobel Day, though, it was white tie. So far, he had used the one Harry had made him for his wedding each year.

“I’ve brought a deep purple jacket I thought I’d wear at the lunch, though,” Eggsy said. “If you’re okay with wearing the lilac Ida Sjöstedt to match?”

“I dare, if you dare.”

Tilde wiggled her eyebrows. Eggsy started laughing.

“Fine,” he said. “I don’t dare. Damn it.”

“Fegis.”

Eggsy threw her hat back at her. “Hey, what’ve I told you about insulting me in Swedish after 10 pm?”

“Do it more often so that you learn?”

“Exactly,” said Eggsy, leaning of the seat to kiss her. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” Tilde twined their fingers together. “I’ve made sure we have most of tomorrow to ourselves.”

Eggsy smiled at her. “You’re the best.”

Tilde lifted their hands and kissed his. They sat in silence the rest of the way home, sporadically squeezing each other’s hand. Officially, Eggsy would fly back to London after New Year’s, but in reality they had six days before he had to go back, three of which were filled with obligations from morning to evening. 

They finally arrived at Haga palace just after half-past one. Eggsy took the bags the driver handed him and apologised for the inconvenience, as Tilde walked up to the palace to unlock the front door and punch in the code to the alarm. 

Eggsy put down the bags as soon as he stepped inside. A small part of him wanted to call out in an attempt to wake up JB jr, but instead he silently toed off his shoes and pulled Tilde into another hug.

“Thank you for picking me up,” he mumbled against her shoulder. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, and whispered, “Welcome home.”

Eggsy held her tighter. It was strange, he had been here less than four months combined over the last three years but this… this was home. He was home.

**Author's Note:**

> The Nobel banquet is actually broadcasted on Swedish TV and last year about 1.2 million people watched it.


End file.
